The Difference
by Envy-Hallie
Summary: The Jones twins, Stacey and Rebecca butt heads with singing sensations The Jonas Brothers. Differences conflict, but what the Jones' have yet to find, is a difference is exactly what they need. Relationship friendly/Drama garunteed


**Just so you guys know, I'm way into the plot I have set for this story, so I promise I won't abandon this like I have past stories. This first chapter is a bit confusing but bare with me? I don't own the Jonas brothers, I do own the Jones twins, and everyone else in this tale who've emerged from my mind.**

**Rebecca Jones**

"This is what is medically known, as a relapse." The Surgeon carefully explained. He bore a pair of black rimmed spectacles; probably in hopes of hiding the massive bags that sagged the skin beneath his dark eyes. Or to distract the common folk from his orangey skin, obviously influenced by some cheap spray on tan. But that was California for you; even your doctor's bid into its insanity. "Stacey..?"

The florescent, doctor obviously didn't know my sister. Stacey was a brooder, and if spectacles didn't give her a rest, I could imagine the hell she would raise. She'd been diagnosed with Scoliosis, in the third grade, which was no big deal, to her at least. It wasn't until Stacey and I were thirteen, had her visits to florescent and company, become more and more frequent.

This was when I started to read about her condition, Scoliosis was a spinal Imperfection, her back was at a curve. The Hunch Back of Notre Dom had severe scoliosis. I suppose that was what freaked me out, picturing my identical twin sister stowed away in some bell tower, bent over at a ninety degree angle.

I looked to Stacey, her head was on the edge of spectacle's desk, I would have gotten on my knees right then and there and crawled under to see her facial expression, if her hands weren't strategically blocking the underside of her face. Rats, she knew me well. "So, what….you screwed up the first time, _doc_?", her voice, muffled by her isolation asked out.

That expression had to be a big, fat, bitter one. I raised an eyebrow at my father, who in a chair to my right was shaking his head vilely, we were both used to Stacey being perfectly rude to strangers. The doctor, looked surprised, he'd probably expected her to cry, or something of the sort. "Because that's totally what I'm getting from all of this".

"Stace, I'm sure it's not the Surgeon's fault", I insisted, Spectacle's looked to me with gratitude. Look away doc, I'm no ally. I blamed him as much as Stacey did, if not more. After all her visits, all the being pulled out of school for those spinal check-ups, the random pains I had listened her moan and groan

about, and then that disturbing picture of Quasi-Stacey Hunchback extroidenare, there was a surgery. And after that, there was pain, and trauma, and I in the role of her personal slave. As much as I love my sister, I'll never enjoy giving her sponge baths.

Her head shot up, a mess of long blonde hair followed. "Whose side are you on, Bex?" That's me, Bex. Rebecca actually, Rebecca Jones. "Yours, always yours. But you can't look around and find someone to blame for everything." I told her.

Stacey rolled her eyes. She pretty much lived to roll those eyes at me. Then she stood up, and grabbed her stupid 'Tears For Fears' bag, and left me, my father, and Specs all alone in his too cozy for comfort, office. "I should go after her", I said softly, after a moment of uneasy silence, then bent down to grab my own bag. "Let's give her a while, Rebecca." Spectacles urged in a chirpy tone. Did he sound pleased?

I looked over to my father, for a real answer. He nodded his head in agreement. Fine. Whatever. I've always been a pushover; if I were Stacey right now I'd storm after, disregarding all everyone said. God, I envy that. Instead, I navigated out my white Zune from the depths of my handbag, it was cluttered too much for my own good. Magazines, books, make-up, pens, something sticky was tugging at my hand, but I refused to give up. I really should clean out my purse.

Finally, my hand grasped the sleek, cool metal. I yanked it out triumphantly, the black wiry ear buds traveled after in the form of a very large knot. Fan-freaking-tastic. My dad and Spectacles were too deep in a low conversation, to notice both the struggle with the search, and the entanglement of my headphones, but hey no need to worry about poor Rebecca and her dilemmas, eh? I shifted uncomfortably in the chair, then pulled a tight panted leg aboard the polyester seat. The Zune's screensaver was a picture of Stacey and I from this past summer. Outside our big blue house, she was on my back, piggy back-style holding a chunk of my waist-length blonde hair in each of her hands to form a mustache on her face, something about that sister of mine, was so colorful, it made me wonder what made me so Vanilla in comparison.

I jammed the buds into my ears, the cord of which was still relatively knotty, but as long as the music sept through, who the hell cared? I rested my chin against my knee, hit the shuffle option on my Zune, and watched the silent conversation between Specs and daddy dearest progress. Wherever Stacey was, I regretted not following her out that door.

_Got the news today_

_But they said I had to stay._

_A little bit longer and I'd be fine_

Crap.

**Stacey Jones**

How do you relapse, with a back disease? All the metal and junk hidden under my skin (quite literally) now, you'd think it was impossible. Guess not. I'm not doing this again, any of this. And what was wrong with Rebecca, where was her support? I was pacing now, outside the doctor's office. If my dad, Bex, or even if Dr. Bell opened that door, they would see me, cowering a lousy thirty feet and a wall away from the chair that probably still had my ass print, and body heat absorbed in it. I had a reputation to uphold, my father probably assumed I was halfway to Asia at this point, and my sister, well she would probably be the one who dared come after me.

At the fear of being caught, I rushed down the white washed hallway, doors identical to the one I had been behind lined the walls. Funny how I was terrified at the thought of being so easily predicted, opposed to the one of my back, manually broken _again_.

At the end of this hallway I met a maze of direction. The walls had transformed from classic hospital off-white, to a hot pink I'd only seen in shades of Crayola color crayons. Children's Hospitals were so classy. This specific hospital, was the largest in California, and three states surrounding. Not that they were humble about it, it was printed on the medical bracelets.

Left or right? I peered down the right hallway, as far as I could see, a few nurses were clustered around an elevator, nothing too interesting. Down the left, the passage met a large corridor, which seemed relatively busy. But, busy enough to hide in, I'd have to find out. Left, I'd have to remember that. Lucky left, Left lucky. Go left, get lucky.

I scurried down the hallway, my TFF bag crashed heavily against my side with each fast step; I must have passed a million colorful pin-ups with claiming 'Doctors, Nurses and assorted staff had the right to view all medical bracelets/tags'. Great. That's just what I want, some nurse laughing at my weight.

That's what I hate about doctors, hospitals too. They don't have a sense of privacy. I know it's their job, to ask about my last minstrel cycle, or if I've been puking up any peculiar color, I just don't enjoy coughing up the answers too well.

At the end of the hallway, were only more directions to envelope or, get lost in. I decided to stick it straight, and follow the general sea of body, almost like a school of fish. If you consider a bunch of sickie's fish. I barged my way in. But ended up elbowing a boy with indecorously tight pants, and jet black hair. "Sorry!" I shouted, disturbing the general low rumble of the crowd. A few glares were shot back in my direction, testy, testy. The boy smiled weakly, but was clutching his stomach, which I could only assume to be where my dagger-of-doom-elbow had jabbed him. "It's alright, miss", he said, in a heavy British accent. Color me intrigued.

"Cool accent.", I told the boy with the tight pants. He was a few inches taller than me, though he looked at least two years older. Rebecca and I had recently turned sixteen, which was the perfect 'not too old, not too young' age, I thought. But this boy, he had to be at least eighteen.

His hair was perfect; it glazed over his smooth, chocolate eyes. But it was so straight. How much time had he spent styling it? And God, he was wearing a white dress shirt and a tie. Where the heck was he going, prom? In a children's hospital? 'Oh, I'm sorry you have the flu, but care to dance?'

"You think? American girls seem to go crazy over it", he boasted, then flashed me a goofy grin. The boy with the tight pants shook his head around, just so enough of that straight black hair landed in front of his right eye, my heart was doing flips. I wanted to take a picture and worship.

"Great for you, I suppose.", I retorted boredly, against my every will to melt in front of him. The carefree approach had always been in my favor.

A blonde woman, pushing a stroller carrying a child who could have easily passed for twelve, pumped by us and exasperated an irritated sigh. We were so slowly, people from the current were swerving around British boy and I. That's when I remembered I was on the run, and sped up.

I glanced back nervously, to make sure nobody was stalking after; the boy with the tight pants struggled to catch up to me, probably because of those pants. No, no stalking. But two deliciously curly haired boys yes. They were practically on our heels. One was taller than the other, older I assumed, definitely cute. The shorter of the two, had a distinct face, and a blue medical bracelet strapped to his left arm. He too, was freaking cute. Where in the world were all these cute hospital boys coming from?

I guess Pants boy noticed me checking out the curly haired boys, because he slung his arm around my shoulder and said: "You know America, I like you, you've got spunk." I raised a neatly groomed eyebrow in his favor; something was weird about this kid. Besides, for all he knew I could have been Canadian, or Brazilian. I could have been.

That's when I heard a snicker. A snicker that made me want to doubt British Boy with everything in me. I pushed Pants' arm off of the nape of my neck, and looked back at the curly haired boys once more. It was the shorter one who'd snickered; his hand over his mouth gave it away, but the taller boy's face seemed equally amused. "Something funny?", I asked the shorter one he seemed easiest to crack, what with all that involuntaril laughing.

"Uh, America, hey over here, I uh...", oh this was weak. Pants was flailing about at my side, to regain my attention. Did he honestly think that if I noticed him causing a scene, I would forget all about the two curly haired boys? Fat chance, Pants. I was as curious as ever, as to what was going on.

The shorter of the curly hair's was looking at me his brown eyes were, wide with shock, I think he was surprised I'd noticed him, let alone spoke to him. "Nick…" the taller boy nudged him. The younger curly haired boy, Nick I assumed, looked at me intact. "I uh…nothing's funny…", he muttered softly. I looked from 'Nick' to the tall boy, then back to Pants who was still flailing.

Something strange was partaking. And the four of us had now completely stopped walking in the midst of the busy hall, what a bad move that was. An angry looking boy in a patients gown and a wheelchair zoomed by me, careful to run over my foot on his rampage. I complained loudly, and then glared at Pants. This was all entirely his fault! "Does it hurt like an elbow to the stomach?" He asked, a large smirk

on his dumb, British face. "Shut up", I snapped. "You, you and _you_" I pointed from Nick, to tall boy, then landed on the source of all the madness, Pants himself. "Follow me." I spat. I wouldn't have been so bitter if my foot wasn't killing me, in the short time frame I'd run away from my dad and sister, and met Pants and his entourage, it was one irritation after the other, nothing more.

I cut out of the moving crowd; there no side seats, and certainly nowhere private enough where I could stealthy take out all my anger on Pants boy (he seemed like an easy enough target for this, considering he had gone from charming to annoying in a moment's notice), yet an open walled room, cluttered in vending machines. Which, with the exception of an older gentleman, who was wrestling a dollar bill into the slot of a large coffee machine, was empty.

I rushed into this room. Though it grossly smelled of old Espresso shots, and stale Doritos it would do. Pants, Nick and Curly walked in moments after. For the first time in the alarmingly short time that I'd actually noticed the two curly haired boys, I noticed their clothes. Both of them were dressed identically to Pants! The fancy dress shirts, ties, the scrumptiously tight pants…And each of them had those same dreamy brown eyes, Pants' had. How could I have missed that?

Suddenly I felt stupid. "You're brothers, aren't you?" I asked. It was more of a lingering wonder then a question, but Nick nodded his head anyway. Pants shook his.

I leant against a large Milk Machine, the illuminant picture of a glass milk bottle brought heat to my body, and probably sought through my new Blood-Red Erin Fetherston jumper. "I thought so", I told Curly and Nick, and then I turned to Pants. "And you" I pointed, "You big liar, you're not British, are you?" I demanded of him. As charming as he was a Brit I probably would have given him the time of day as an American. What was his angle? Nick snickered, apparently he did that quite often, but it was my assurance that I had hit right on the money. "Oh bloody hell", an open mouthed Pants exclaimed loudly, in his faux English accent. If only my elbow had hit him a smidge harder.

**Nicholas Jonas**

Joe was an idiot. These past few years he'd picked up an ego when it came to girls, he'd say something stupid, they'd laugh, I was pretty sure that was how all of this started started. Not long after, he was unstoppable, hitting on girls left and right, up and down, everywhere he usually did get a laugh out of them, too. Sure, he was energetic, and out of Kevin, Frankie, and I, Joe was the funny one. But

sometimes I wish I could go back in time, find the first girl who laughed at one of his dumb jokes and strangle her.

We were at a children's hospital, and he found someone to hit on there! She was a pretty blonde, hardly taller than me, but so far she seemed to be calling Joe on his crap, so far I liked this girl. Besides she had a big 'Tears for Fears' bag slung around her arm, who doesn't love Roland Orzabal? "My dear, I can explain!", Joe yelled after the blonde in his British accent impression, who was now millimeters from cutting back into the hallway rush of the hospital.

I wanted to empathize with this girl; she was in a hospital after all. She could be dying, or sick, and here was Joe trying to pick her up. The girl rolled her eyes then shot a sympathetic look at Kevin and I. Kevin, like Joe was my brother, those two plus our kid brother Frankie. "It was nice meeting you guys" she nodded towards us, then shuffled herself into the crowd. Damnit.

"She'll always be 'The one that got away'…", Joseph mused, back to his regular tone of voice. His accent scam, shouldn't have worked in the first place, it was more Australian then it was English. Kevin laughed loudly then leant against the Milk machine the blonde had been against seconds ago. I was still staring at the hole in the wall that she left through. Maybe she'd come back if I stared hard enough. "Nickster, you alright?" Joe patted my shoulder. I nodded. I know the girl, hardly even looked at me, but I was curious to know where she came from, or her name even, not a lot of people had the nerve to stand up to Joe.

"I'll be back", I said pointing towards my medical bracelet. I had diabetes; it was why we were at the hospital to begin with. Joe nodded, at least he knew how to be serious at all; Kevin just looked down at me sternly, we both knew I was going after that girl.

As weird as it sounds, my brothers and I are best friends. Our ages are so different, I'm fifteen, Joe's eighteen, and Kevin's twenty, but we just flow. I guess my producer saw that too in us. I sing, I've always sang, I have a thing for music. Drums, Keyboards, pianos, guitars, you name it, I play it. My brother Kevin, plays a mean guitar, bass too. And Joe, well Joe sings, he can play a little guitar, but not like Kevin and I. Anyway, a few years back, my producer signed us as a band 'The Jonas Brothers', which started up pretty mildly, but recently it's crazy, we're all over billboards, in magazines, the words I write the pictures I take, they're all over the internet. I wonder if this feeling of fame, is how John Lennon felt, when the Beatles rocked out America.

I bolted back into the hallway; she couldn't have gotten far, not unless she was some kind of super sprinter. She could have been. I jogged past two lounges, exactly like the one I'd left my brothers in. How many vending machines could one hospital have?

I just kept on jogging. That had to be swell for my diabetes. I looked for her long blonde hair, or face that I hardly knew, to greet me: a perfectly odd stranger. What was I expecting? "It's Nick, right?", I stopped running, there she was, cast off to the side of the rush, against the bright hospital wall. "Yeah….it…is..."

I heaved for my breath and leaned against the wall next to her. She looked willing to wait for me to catch it, so I took my time. When I finally had, I knew I had to say something to benefit her on behalf of my brother. "Sorry about Joe, he can be a real jerk", I said. She seemed to smile with gratitude; I guess she understood who Joe was. "Its fine" she said, then held out her arm, handshake-ready for mine. I gripped her hand. She had on a medical bracelet too, hers was yellow.

"I'm Stacey Jones", she spoke assurantly, and retracted her hand. Was it weird that I wished she hadn't? "Nick Jonas", I said. I gestured at her bracelet; did she have diabetes like I did? Or was it worse…. "Scoliosis", she said. She gestured towards my bracelet; I guess it was her turn. "Diabetes.", I told her. I think I expected condolence or sympathy, like most everyone else gave me, but Stacey just smiled. "You wanna…sit down somewhere, and talk?" she asked, and her eyes were so blue, and nothing more, I couldn't refuse. I nodded. Boy did I ever.

_I'll be fine._

**A/N: Okay, so I re-edited the original chapter, after I realized I'd hardly done so, and I liked this version a lot better. Like I said before, this chapter is basically to throw you into basic meeting-and-greeting collisions between some of the characters with others. The next, will have more background history for Stacey, Rebecca and their father, so you guys aren't so hazed on that. I also would like to point out that there is a significance to the fact that both sisters create nicknames for people whose actual names they don't know.**

**Anyway, thank you guys for so many hits, so fast. I seriously appreciate that, Questions, Comments, and Suggestions, are warmly welcomed!!!**

**Love you guys!**

**-Hallie 'Rhibreadx'**


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